


Potato

by Indigoblau



Series: Random drabbles [7]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Drabble, Gen, Ushijima is a farming nerd, harvesting, i have no explanation for this, rip lil' potato, thats thy question, to potao or not to potato, what
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-30 07:19:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15091865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Indigoblau/pseuds/Indigoblau
Summary: Ushijima reminiscing life over a little, happy but unfortunately soon-to-be-eaten potato





	Potato

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WeenaMorloch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeenaMorloch/gifts).



> This happened last night because Weena 'nd I talked about "you harvest what you sow" regarding happiness in life and he suddenly asked if Ushijima ever gets an existential crisis over a potato and.. well.. now he does.
> 
> I'm not even sorry.

It was a warm sunny day, bringing people out of their houses to lazily chill at the near lake or go biking in the coolness of the shadowy woods framing the little, calm village.  
On the outlines of said village were fields, warm golden and brown colours welcoming whoever decided to take a walk alongside them, admiring the beauty of ripe tomates and the refreshing green leaves of the carrots poking their heads out of the rich earth.  
Somewhere between those vegetables and other edible goods humans strode around, harvesting what the incredibly warm-hearted summer had giftet them with. Their hearts sang along to the cicada's music, happy about how the god of autumn had gifted them with so much.

One of the people out there on the fields was a boy, almost a young man with broad shoulders and a stern face, picking potatoes with his big hands, not minding the dirt staining his skin and clothes.  
Ushijima - the man - loved every bit of this season.  
Normally caught up in university activities as well as volleyball which he tried to make his profession, he hadn't much time to admire nature. But now he was away from all this for a whole week, at the little mountain village his aunt lived at to help her and her husband with their harvest.  
He loved the calming routine of grabbing the spade next to him, digging over the already loosened earth and grabbing the insconpicuous conks, putting it in the basket on his other side just to beginn anew.  
He had helped harvesting for many years now, but this time it was special: This were the very same potatoes he had planted with his own hands on his last holiday spent here.  
It was fascinating to really grab a hold at something that HE grew. That he had put into this very same earth somewhile ago, that had riped over the weeks with water and sunlight and the love from all those farmers here.  
For a while he held still, looking at the potato in his hand and enjoying the thought about the circle of nature growing.

And suddenly he felt a strange hollowness inside, and while he stared at the brown vegetable, he run thought after thought in his head about life and the circle of being and everything beyond the horizon of human knowledge. True, he did plant that little buddy there, but he did nothing to make him grow, did he?  
He hadn't even been here when the fields got watered or sheltered from storms,  
he hadn't been here everyday to admire and worship the miracles of nature and it bearing fruits.  
He merely had helped to begin it all, and now he was robbing this beautiful field of its children whom they had helped to be, robbing them of all they ever had.  
Strangely enough, he felt sad at the thought of the potato being eaten after having surviving for so long and maybe enjoyed being a full-grown potato sometime.

You harvest what you sow, but at what price?

Even if he did continue his work after a short break and even if he did eat the steaming hot potatos this evening at his aunts house, even if he returned to his busy life at university and the years moved on, he never forgot about his little friend out there on the field.

And if Ushijima spilled a few confused tears over how tragic the fate of this little potato was, he wouldn't dare to ever mention it to anyone.

**Author's Note:**

> °^°


End file.
